


Veterans Day

by feyandstrange



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-04 00:13:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1760425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feyandstrange/pseuds/feyandstrange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set sometime shortly after _Winter Soldier_, a Memorial Day barbecue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Veterans Day

Eighty-six degrees, not too much humidity but breathable. For Washington summers, that was pretty good, Rhodes knew. Good flying weather. The real heat wouldn’t get started for another week or two, he hoped.

Carol Danvers was coming around the side of the house, more casual than Rhodey had seen her in years; cargo shorts, a worn T-shirt, and a Tupperware in one hand. Rhodey got out of the lawn chair to take the box away and hug her.

“Good to see you,” he said, smiling. “Especially out of our damn dress uniforms.”

“You too. All of you,” she said jokingly to Rhodey’s stomach. “Getting a little swivel-chair spread there?”

“It’s middle-aged dignity, damnit.”

“You keep telling yourself that. Especially when you get the uniform tailored.”

Rhodey realized he was still holding a large piece of Tupperware covered in plastic wrap. “Danvers, what is this?”

She shrugged. “Um, egg salad?”

“I thought you were gonna make your mom’s deviled eggs? And after I said you didn’t have to bring anything,” he sighed.

“I thought so too,” Danvers said, sounding annoyed.

“I shouldn’t ask.”

“The eggs didn’t want to peel nice, okay? So I gave up and mashed the whole mess together. Call it deviled egg salad,” Danvers said grouchily.

“You gotta dunk ‘em in cold water first,” Rhodey said. “You didn’t use fresh eggs, did you?”

Danvers threw up her hands. “Mom’s recipe didn’t say anything about fancy-ass eggs, Rhodes! This is why I usually bring a twelve-pack!”

“No beer for the alcoholics,” Rhodey replied, scraping up some of the deviled egg salad onto a cracker. “I invited the veterans group, and some of ‘em are struggling. Sorry, Carol. Shoulda told you to bring lemonade or something if you felt obliged.”

“It’s okay. What’s this stuff?” Carol asked, pointing to the food table.

“The gelatin thing? Captain America made it.”

Danvers scowled. “You’re shitting me.”

“Swear to God and the Air Force, Carol. The man himself is over there behind the smoker, and he brought a Jello salad. And that potato salad, and a ham and macaroni thing down there that looks like something the Army would serve but is surprisingly delicious. Take a slab of it.”

Carol sighed. “Even Captain America’s better in a kitchen than I am.”

“You’ve got other talents. And anyway this deviled egg salad idea is great,” Rhodey decided. “I’mma make a sandwich. Barbecue’s running a little slow.”

Danvers glanced towards the barbecues. “All these grunts and nobody got the smoker going?”

“There was an explosion. A little one. Some people are now banned from using lighter fluid,” Rhodes said. “I got the smoker going again and there’s some little stuff on the grill.”

Danvers eyed the barbecue. “Maybe I’ll go get a burger or something while I wait for what comes out of the smoker.”

“Yes,” Rhodes said to his sandwich. “Deviled egg salad sandwich. Maybe with relish. You’re on to something here. This is way better than having to pick up each egg individually.”

“Air Force efficiency,” Carol grinned, taking a slice of the ham salad. “So when’s the throwdown?”

“Oh, any time now. Sam was checking on his guys, I had to deal with the smoker. We’re over there,” Rhodey waved.

“This is one hell of a backyard,” Danvers said, seeing the lawn chairs set up a distance away overlooking the Potomac between stands of oak. “When you said you got a friend to loan you his backyard, I was expecting Reston or something.”

“The friend is a two-star general who’s taking his family to the Bahamas for the week. Since the pool company can’t start digging up that side until after the holiday, he said we could have the place.”

“Damn. RHIP,” Carol said.

“I think he married money too. But yeah.”

A large colonial-style home lurked behind them. A flagstone patio bigger than Rhodey’s first apartment held trestle tables full of food, plus chairs and tables in fancy fake wrought iron. Two steps down the patio furniture switched to outdoor sofas, and a dozen veterans of various degrees of age and scruffiness were lounging on the floral cushions, eating and talking. A large area of the lawn was marked off by spray-painted corners and surveyors’ stakes, the eventual swimming pool site; today it was an Ultimate Frisbee field. More lawn rolled gently down to trees and a bluff leading down to the muddy, peaceful Potomac.

“I think if I squint I can see the spooks,” Carol said, and Rhodey laughed.

“I was just trying to make out the Agency. Yep.”

“Maybe in winter. Too many trees,” Danvers said, polishing off her salad.

“Somehow I don’t think they’d like it if we Agent Orange’d the CIA.”

Danvers looked thoughtful. “But you got your shiny ride back, right? I bet you could sneak over there with some paint grenades.”

“Tell that to Sam, he’s retired, he could get away with it,” Rhodey replied.

“Yeah, where is Sam?”

“Let’s go find him,” Rhodes decided, figuring it was time he checked on the rest of his party.

There were a dozen veterans in shorts and t-shirts standing around the field, a few C-legs and battle scars in evidence. Sam seemed to be refereeing, with Captain America standing by as if unsure of himself.

“Touch football only, we oughta be able to do this,” Sam was saying firmly.

“So what, a touch is a tackle? That’s weird,” a grunt in the back complained.

“I still don’t think I should play,” Rogers said quietly.

“You be quiet. I’ll think of a way to handicap you,” Sam said firmly, tapping him on the chest.

“But some of the rules have changed,” he objected. “I’ve barely caught up with what they’ve done to baseball.”

“Well, there’s your handicap,” Sam Wilson replied. “Now then.”

“Now you should put down the Frisbee and make good on our bet,” Rhodes said from behind him. “The wind’s picking up.”

Sam turned around, hands on his hips. “Oh really. You’re not afraid of a little wind?” he challenged.

“Please. I just don’t want to have to fish your skinny ass out of the Potomac,” Rhodey retorted.

Sam Wilson picked up a bottle of sports drink, took a slug, and set it back down in the grass. “All right, then, you’re on. Lemme go take a piss first. And – Danvers, holy shit!” Sam realized, spotting her at last. “I haven’t seen you in – way too long.”

Carol accepted a hug and an arm-punch. “Last time I saw you was on the news, big man. Did you really steal those wings of yours and take out an entire Helicarrier?”

“I had a little help,” Sam grinned, reaching out an arm to tap Rogers on the shoulder. “Steve Rogers, meet one of the finest pilots the Air Force still has. Captain Carol Danvers, you saw my buddy here on the news too.”

“That I did, sir,” Carol said, shaking hands with The Man with relative ease. “And I think you’ve both earned some time off.”

Captain America looked faintly embarrassed. “I guess we have, ma’am.”

“Steve, what have I told you about sir and ma’aming everybody? We are so far off duty some of us are not wearing pants!” Wilson pointed out.

“Hey, I started it, my bad,” Carol said, trying to get Captain America off the hook like he was a twenty-year-old fresh meat instead of, well, Captain America. Rhodes wanted to laugh at them, and was nice enough not to.

“No rank here today,” Rhodes added. “But if Rogers here would agree to referee –“

“That’s what I said,” Rogers agreed. “I can be the ref. I don’t even like football much.”

“No, I need you to ref a little bet that Sam and I have going,” Rhodey said. Some of the grunts in the know started cheering.

“Well, actually, I was gonna pip Danvers for the job,” Sam said. “Air Force honor and all. No offense, Steve, but you’re not much of a pilot.”

Rogers shrugged. “I just jump out of planes, I don’t fly ‘em.”

“Let ‘em both referee,” Rhodes said. “It’s gonna be obvious who wins this, anyway.”

“That it is,” Sam said, grinning in his face.

“What’s this contest all about, then?” Rogers asked.

“There was a little jock talk about who was the best flyer,” Danvers explained, swiping a bottle of root beer out of a cooler in the grass. “There’s some poll on the Internet saying that Sam and his wings might be able to outfly Iron Patriot.”

“Which led to a lot of technical nerdouts from the engineers about which setup was best and which could do what,” Sam added. “But it’s not about the suit, is it, Rhodey?”

“Nope. It’s about the badass who wears it,” Rhodey agreed. “Which is why we agreed to level the playing field a little.”

They were approaching the lawn chairs.

“So what’d you go with? Copters?” Danvers asked.

“We figured that matched better than fixed-wing, although we’ve got some fixed-wings as a backup if these fail us,” Rhodes said.

A pair of quadcopters were sitting in the biggest lawn chairs. “You wanna pick first?” Sam offered Rhodey, who shrugged indifference.

Danvers dug around in the pocket of her cargo shorts. “Call it,” she said.

“Heads.”

“Tails.”

Danvers caught the coin on her hand and looked. “Sam’s pick.”

Sam laughed, and took the nearest quadcopter and seat. “I get the red one.”

Rhodey frowned. “Danvers, did you just use a challenge coin to flip for us?”

“Um – yeah?”

Watson laughed. “Only you, Carol.”

“What, we’re supposed to carry the damn things,” she complained.

“I shoulda told you. We banned ‘em. Some of my vets can’t stand being reminded of the shit, and anyway I think challenge coins are kinda stupid,” Sam said, stretching out in his seat. “Half of my missions are so damn classified they don’t even exist. What are they gonna do, issue a challenge coin that’s classified?”

“I think Rhodey told me when he invited me, but I have so many of the damn things that they get left in my pockets,” Carol admitted.

Rhodey fished a can of soda out of the nearest cooler and stuck it in the drink holder of his fishing chair. Danvers was pulling up a lawn chair behind them, as was Rogers.

“Five minutes warm-up,” Danvers declared, checking her cellphone.

Rhodey picked the blue quadcopter up, set it down on the grass, and examined the remote control for a minute.

“I think Tony has one of these,” Rogers said, looking over Sam’s shoulder.

“Tony Stark probably has a million of these.”

“I meant he was buzzing one around in one of our last meetings,” Rogers admitted.

Rhodes sighed in a long-suffering fashion. “Mind of a genius, attention span of a hummingbird. I dread the day I end up in civilian life and he hires me.”

“Aw, does a seven-figure salary sound that bad?” Danvers teased. “Go work for some other contractor if you’re getting too old to fly.”

Rhodes snorted. “You don’t know Tony. When he said he’ll hire me, it’s a threat. I talked about going to work for ACES once, and Tony played with his phone and told me he’d just bought forty-seven percent of their stock and three seats on the board, and would I come to work for him now.”

Rogers snickered.

“You just keep complaining about your expensive job offers,” Sam Wilson said, attempting to flip his copter over in midair. “My broke ass is gonna hope the VA decide to keep paying me at all after all this.”

“They’re not filing charges, are they?” Danvers said, concerned.

“You didn’t hear it from me, but you’re part of a package deal getting some amnesty,” Rhodes said, jigging his copter. “You, the Captain here, and a few other folks are getting quietly ignored in favor of going after the SHIELD brass who may or may not have ordered you to do this.”

Danvers snorted. “They obviously don’t know Sam Wilson if they think somebody had to order him to steal those wings back.”

Sam laughed.

“True, but Congress and its friends are after bigger fish, not people whose poll numbers suggest they could run for Congress,” Rhodes said. “You and most especially Captain America over there, and some of your friends, are too beloved of the public right now for Congress to want to risk its poll numbers by putting you in a witness stand.”

“That explains why they haven’t called me back in,” Rogers sighed. “I thought Stark was covering for me.”

“Tony knows he doesn’t need to,” Rhodes replied. “You’re the American poster boy, God help you. Congress doesn’t want to mess with that in case you say something unkind about one of ‘em at midterms.”

Rogers groaned. “I swear I want nothing to do with politics.”

“I could play some politics,” Sam Wilson offered. “Think I could run for Congress?”

Rhodey snorted, and Carol outright laughed. “You couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut,” she added.

“You might get the veterans’ vote, though,” Rogers said.

“That’s it, I’ll use my new-found nightly news fame to get myself made head of the VA. Make some goddamned necessary changes,” he declared.

“You’d have my vote,” Danvers said. “But I’m pretty sure you can’t say ‘goddamned necessary changes’ to Congress.”

“Yep,” Rhodes sighed. “At least, not on the record.”

“I’mma leave the politics to the old man over there,” Sam said. “Colonel Rhodes for Congress.”

“Oh hell no.”

“With your rich friend Tony Stark bankrolling you? And the military vote? You’d be on a committee faster than greased pork,” Sam teased.

“Come on, Sam, it isn’t Rhodey’s fault he’s got a gift for dealing with the difficult brass,” Danvers put in.

“Yeah, it’s called brown-nosing.”

“I think those five minutes are up,” Rogers mentioned.

“Oops. Right, you both ready?” Danvers asked. “Land those things.”

“Born ready.”

“Yup.”

Both quadcopters came to a halt before the lawn chairs.

“All right! Winner stays in the sky, loser doesn’t!” Carol announced as the quadcopters settled back down to the grass. “Oh my mark – ready – set – takeoff!”

Two little quadcopters buzzed merrily into the sky. Rhodes attempted to sideswipe Wilson, who went for a commanding height. The crowd cheered.

“Man, if I had a gun on this thing –“ Watson said.

“We tried water pistols, it didn’t work,” Rhodes told the audience, dodging a tree.

“Laser pointer? Nah, you wouldn’t be able to see if you hit,” Carol decided.

“We thought about – damnit – night vision goggles and shit, but we decided – woo! – it was too much trouble,” Sam added between exhortations. His copter buzzed the spectators’ heads and curved around for another pass.

“And anyway we agreed it wasn’t about the tech,” Rhodey said, trying to line up a way to knock Sam’s copter down without sacrificing his own.

“Exactly. This is all skill,” Watson grunted.

“Skill and reflex. And this is why the damn CIA can’t have civilians flying their drones,” Rhodey added, sideswiping his copter into Watson’s.

“Ooh!”

“You really want a job running a joystick?” Danvers asked rhetorically.

“No policy discussions during battle,” Rhodes retorted, losing sight of his copter among the trees.

“Shit, where’d they go? That last gust of wind –“ Watson said, standing up to look.

A sad sound came from the watching crowd of veterans.

Rhodey punched buttons on his controller, trying to retrieve his copter.

Nothing moved above the trees.

“Did you go out of range, or end up in the water?” Carol wondered.

“Damnit.”

“Rematch,” Sam declared in annoyance. “We’ve still got the fix-wings.”

“I want to check on the smoker first,” Rhodey decided.

“Yeah.”

“Gonna have a great view of the fireworks,” Carol said, stretching out her legs.

“Almost as good as from the air,” Rhodey sighed, standing up.

“Hey, if we were flying we wouldn’t be eating barbecue all night,” Carol said consolingly.

“True dat.”

Rogers frowned. “I hope the gang are gonna be okay with the fireworks. They’re still a little loud for me.”

“I’m okay as long as I can see where the bang is coming from,” Danvers said. “If I know it’s fireworks, that’s all good. Random shit exploding, not so good.”

“Random shit exploding is never good,” Rhodes said, warily eyeing the smoker. It did not explode, and the smoke was a good blue. “Smells good. Let’s take a look at that pig.”

“Where’d Sam go?” Danvers wondered.

“Checking on his people,” Rogers said, pointing. “One or two of the people in his veterans’ group are a little leery of the smell of roasting pork.”

“I knew I should tried to get a side of beef,” Rhodey said, putting on his gloves and lifting the lid.

“Sam said it was fine,” Rogers said over the sizzling sound.

“Oh my Lord that smells good,” Danvers said, sniffing. “I don’t know how anybody can mistake that for napalm and bodies – oh, shit, sorry.”

Rhodes started laughing. “Not everyone has your discerning sense of smell, Carol.”

“You’re using some fancy kind of wood, right?” Rogers asked, sniffing also.

“Apple and mesquite, and some fancy pants former whiskey barrel pieces,” Rhodey said, aiming the digital thermometer at his meat and eyeing the water pans. “Looking good. Another hour or so and we should have some serious ribs.”

“I could starve to death in an hour,” Carol said. “I’m gonna go get some more food. That ham salad’s really good, Rogers,” she said as she went.

“Thanks.”

Rhodey closed the smoker up again. “I think we’ve got time for that rematch.”


End file.
